


The Great British Blake-Off

by Chash



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Bakery, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-03
Updated: 2018-02-03
Packaged: 2019-03-12 21:52:23
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,433
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13556313
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Chash/pseuds/Chash
Summary: When his mother passed away, Bellamy wasn't expecting the family bakery to be a problem. After all, he's been working there for as long as he can remember, his mother's second in command. The bakery feels like his whole life, sometimes. Of course she'll leave it to him.Except she also leaves it to his sister. That's going to make things complicated.





	The Great British Blake-Off

**Author's Note:**

> [Over on Twitter](https://twitter.com/SelinaWilken/status/958375590947680257), Selina was talking about hypothetical fic she'd write, and I was like, well, if I WAS going to write that fic, what would I write?? Which 100% of the time leads to me writing the fic, so here we are.
> 
> Also, I cannot emphasize enough that this is NOT a GBBO AU, it's just a funny title. Don't @ me.

When his mother dies, Bellamy expects to get the bakery. After all, he’s the one who’s been there, who’s worked for it. He’s the one who _stayed_. When she was in the hospital, he told her he’d take care of the place, and she squeezed his hand and told him she knew he would.

And now she’s dead, and some lawyer is telling him that it's not happening.

“Not immediately,” she corrects, before he can actually start yelling. 

Clarke Griffin isn’t what he would have expected from an estate lawyer, not that he would have said he had many expectations. To the extent that he has ideas about estate lawyers, he thinks of them as overly serious guys in scary movies who tell the family that they have to spend the night in the haunted mansion in order to get the money. That's his only real point of reference for people who deal with wills.

Clarke isn’t like that at all. She’s probably a couple years younger than he is, brisk and professional, but with a streak of red in her tight blonde braid that makes him think she can’t be quite as no nonsense as she acts.

So he makes himself be calm. “What does that mean, not immediately?”

For a second, she’s quiet, thinking it over, and then she closes her file and fixes her expression on him. It feels calculated, but he’s not sure what she’s need to calculate.

“Your mother said this was a family bakery.”

“And?”

“And she said she wanted both her children to be involved.”

She sounds so serious, he feels bad for his snort of laughter. “Yeah, good luck with that.”

“Mr. Blake—“

“Bellamy.”

“Bellamy. It’s my job to make sure your mother’s last wishes are honored. And she put a lot of effort into this one. The bakery goes to you and Octavia.”

“Octavia doesn’t want it,” he says, flat.

“She knew that. Which is why it doesn’t go to the two of you immediately. She’s left it under the firm’s management for one year. During that time, you and your sister will need to run it. Together.”

“And if she won’t?”

“Then we retain control. We’ll liquidate the property and give the proceeds to charity. It’s all in the will.”

His jaw works, and she goes on before he can say anything.

“I know this isn’t what you wanted. I talked to your mother a lot, before she passed. She doesn’t want you to have to do this alone.”

“She has a shitty way of trying to make sure I don’t have to.”

Clarke shrugs. “I’m not saying I agree with her, but it is legal and binding. You and your sister run the bakery together for a year and it’s all yours. But it has to be both of you. Look at it this way,” she adds. “After the year, she can give you her shares, or sell them. She doesn’t have to be involved. You just have to talk her into a year.”

“Did my mom say that?”

“She thought you could sell her on the year. And she thought once the year was over, your sister would want to stay. I don’t know you, I don’t know your family. Not really. But—this is what your mother had us set up. So this is what you have to work with.”

“Do I have any other requirements?”

“You have to be financially viable. I have numbers for what goals you have to meet, but it's not--you don't have to be getting rich or anything.”

“How the fuck did she find time for this?” he asks. He’d feel bad for the profanity, but he’s honestly floored. His mother has a complicated will, and a lawyer, and a whole fucking _inheritance scheme_ in place. She put genuine effort into making sure that he would not just get her business, and for what? Because she’s pissed at Octavia for leaving? At him for not being able to bring her back?

Maybe she just thinks he can’t do it alone. But she at least could have given him a chance. A year to make the bakery stable on his own, instead of this.

“I guess it mattered to her,” says Clarke, voice a little too light, and Bellamy winces. It’s not _her_ fault. She’s just doing her job.

He offers her his best attempt at a smile. “Yeah. It must have.”

*

“Mom had a will?” is Octavia's first question.

Bellamy crosses his arms over his chest, trying not to scowl. “She knew she was dying, O, of course she had a will.”

It’s not like he hasn’t seen his sister in five years. She’s come back before. She spends most major holidays with them, and she was even here for some of their mother's illness, the early stages, when she could take the time off work. But Octavia has been clear, since she left: this isn’t here home anymore. This is where she grew up, and now she’s done with it.

If Bellamy blamed her, it might be easier. Instead, he blames himself, which is so much more complicated. It’s not her fault for not wanting to stay, it’s his own for not being able to change her mind.

She’s his responsibility. She always has been. He should have done something differently. 

“You know what I mean,” she says, with a scowl of her own. “She has a _lawyer_.”

It’s hard to argue with that one. “Yeah.” 

“I thought it would just be _Bellamy gets everything_ and then you’d have to deal with all her stuff.”

“It still pretty much is. I have to deal with the house, she didn’t care about that.”

Octavia sobers. “But the bakery—“

“You know I wouldn’t ask you to do this if I didn’t have to,” he says, and she snorts.

“You would. You totally would.”

He feels his mouth twitch; he does love his sister. He misses her all the time. “Okay, yeah. I would. But I wouldn’t lie to you about it.”

“Okay, yeah, that's true.” She sighs. “What is it again? Is it legal?”

“It’s legal enough I don’t know how to contest it. It _sounds_ legal. I googled the law firm, it’s legit. And maybe it wouldn’t hold up in court, but it’s not like I can afford to contest it, you know? All it would do is eat up all my money, and I wouldn’t have a job while I did it. Clarke’s firm is in control now."

She shakes her head. “That’s so fucked up.”

He can't disagree. There's something viscerally upsetting about it, this feeling of _wrong_ at the idea anyone outside of the family would have control of _their_ bakery.

Blake’s Bakes was founded by one of his maternal great-grandfathers, and it’s been family owned and operated ever since. If they lose it now, he knows that won’t _really_ be his fault, just like Octavia leaving wasn’t. It’ll be their mother’s, first and foremost, for this ridiculous plan. It won’t even be O’s fault, if she doesn’t want to stay.

Neither of them has to actually do anything wrong, and he’ll still feel bad for the rest of his life. His mother probably didn’t mean it as a final _fuck you_ —she probably thinks she was helping—but that doesn't stop him feeling like that.

“If you can’t stay, I get it, and I’ll fight it," he says, on a sigh. "I like the lawyer, Clarke. I think she’ll be honest about my options if I tell her I need to contest. But—if you can just stay for a year and help out, then everything goes to us. You can give me your shares, or keep them and just leave me in charge, I don’t know. We can figure it out.”

Part of him feels unreasonable, asking her to do this. She has a life she’ll be uprooting, a home across the country she’ll have to leave, a job and friends. But she’s a bartender who’s always living paycheck to paycheck; she likes her life, but he has trouble believing she’d have that much trouble picking back up where she left off. 

“Bell—“

“We’ve got the house, that’s free room. We can split groceries, and the bakery—“

She fixes him with a pointed look. “Yeah, how’s the bakery doing?”

“It’s been better. We haven’t been able to—Mom was dying,” he says, and O sighs.

“Yeah. That would have been tough for business."

"I was looking at a soft reopening, honestly," he says. "We've been on reduced hours for a few weeks while I dealt with everything. We weren't doing great before that, but I figure we can take the opportunity to shut down for a week, do some reorganizing, make it kind of an event. Try to drum up more business. Assuming you stay," he adds, quick. "You don't have to."

"And if I don't, you'll go broke trying to keep the place."

"I'm already pretty broke, so it won't take long."

Her mouth twitches. "You're really making me feel better here."

"I'll be fine, O. Whatever you decide to do. But I don't want to lose the bakery. If there's a way for me to keep it, I want to."

"And the easiest way is with me."

"Yeah. I'll make sure you're not in worse shape at the end of the year than you are now."

"You know it's not just you, right?" she asks, soft. "I grew up in that kitchen too, Bell. I didn't leave because I didn't care about this."

Hope lodges in his throat, a lump so large he almost can't speak through it. "So you'll stay?"

"I need some time to figure stuff out," she says. "Get packed up, talk to my boss. But--give me a week, and I'll be back?"

"I probably need the week anyway. Talk to the lawyers, figure out what we need to do and what kind of timeline we're on. Look at staffing, branding, everything."

"Cool, keep me posted." She hesitates for a second, and then hugs him. It's not like she's never hugged him before, but he's used to initiating, pulling her in before she leaves and worrying she might have been happier if he just let her go with a handshake. "I'll be back in a week."

He wants to believe it, but he doesn't quite know how. Until she's here, he's going to be worrying that something will go wrong, that she'll change her mind.

But that's irrational, so he smiles. "I'll have the place ready for you," he tells her.

She smiles back. "You better."

*

"I don't think I ever said I'm sorry."

Clarke is sitting on the counter at the bakery, dressing in paint-stained jeans and an over-sized t-shirt, her hair loose and tucked behind her ears. She looks like a college student who's applying for a part-time job, and Bellamy's having trouble remembering he's talking to a lawyer. Which feels dangerous, if he's honest. He can like Clarke, but her job isn't to help him, it's to make sure his mother's will is honored. And for all he knows, she's rooting for him to fail. It might be better for her firm if he did.

"Sorry for what?" he asks. He's scrubbing down _everything_ ; it feels like the best place to start. He needs something to do with his hands. "You already gave me your condolences, don't worry."

"My dad died when I was in college," she says. "And it was--obviously, it's tragic. Everyone knows that. But it was so stressful too, and as deaths go it was--simple. At least for me. I can't imagine dealing with the debt and all the estate stuff and the weird bakery puzzle on top of everything else."

He snorts. " _Weird bakery puzzle_? Is that the legal term?"

"Yeah, that's what you go to law school to learn."

"Isn't it, though? This is what you do, right? You must be used to it."

"Yes and no. I was expecting, you know--" She huffs. "We have two kinds of clients. A handful of--rich assholes, basically."

"Wow, don't sugarcoat it."

"The kind of people who use lawyers like me to figure out how to pass on all of the wealth they can while getting around laws that keep them from doing it," she says, ignoring him. "They pay our big bills. And people like your mom tend to be easier. Or I thought they were. But the number of people who want to use their own deaths to blackmail--not a legal term, don't quote me, I'm wearing sneakers so it doesn't count," she adds quickly, and he laughs. "It's like they're trying to win arguments once and for all. _If you don't do this, you don't get what you want from me_. I can't imagine doing that to my daughter."

He startles so hard he hits his head on display, luckily doing more damage to his head than the glass rack; Clarke is smirking, and he glares at her. "How old are you?" he asks.

"Twenty-nine."

"And your daughter?"

"Twelve."

She's still smiling, so he tries, "Prom baby?"

"Foster child. I'm working on getting the adoption legalized, though."

He settles back into his cleaning. "How did you get involved with that?"

"Work, sort of. I never really thought much about foster care, but dealing with parents scrambling to figure out who would take their kids if the worst happened, making sure they would be set--I got a lot more aware of the problems with the system. I figured I could make up a spare bedroom and even at my worst, I knew I'd be better than some of the places kids end up."

"Yeah, I did some research about it when I was in high school. That was the first time my mom got sick, when I was sixteen. I was so scared she'd die and me and O would end up getting separated."

"Your dad wasn't in the picture?"

"No. Mine died when I was a baby, and O's wasn't interested in being a dad." He slides out from under the counter and regards her. "So, you really want to help me? That's what this story is supposed to prove?"

She smiles, even laughs softly, so he feels less guilty about liking her. "Yeah, it's an elaborate plot to win your trust and screw you over. I do want to help you," she adds. "It's not like my firm benefits if you fail. We have to manage the sale of the property and the charitable donation and all of that. And we lose a beloved local business."

"Uh huh."

"Seriously. I'd be happier if this worked out for you guys. So if I can help, let me know. How's your web presence?"

"Shitty. Our website looks like Geocities never died."

"Does it autoplay music?"

"No, thank god. But it does have a lot of clip art gifs of bakers."

"Yeah, that's--not great. We should look at your budget. I've got a friend who does web design, she would probably give you a deal on a revamp. Facebook?"

"Not really. Octavia might be better at that. Instagram and stuff too. I'm not great with technology."

Clarke nods, pulling out her phone to apparently take actual notes. "Instagram would be great, I'll talk to her about that. Do you have other employees?"

"This isn't actually included in your duties, is it?" he asks, frowning. "You know we can't pay you. I doubt my mom's ghost is paying you."

"It's not going to take that long."

"You don't have to help, Clarke."

"I know. I'm not going to do a lot, but--it sounded like your mom handled a lot of the back-end stuff, and you were more customer service. I'm decent with numbers, so--"

"So you're helping."

"Off and on, when I have time. Madi's working on a group project right now, so--"

"That's your daughter?" he asks. "Madi?"

"Yeah."

"When did you start fostering her?"

"It's been almost a year now, I think."

He gets back to cleaning while Clarke talks, and it's just nice, for the first time anything has been, since his mother died. Since his mother got sick, even. 

It feels like he could have a future, a good one. It feels like he can see where he's going.

*

"How much of this can we redo?"

Octavia was back a day earlier than promised, and spent her first day in town getting her room set up. It's already disconcerting, being home with his sister, occupying the same rooms they did when they were children. He's not even sure if he _wants_ the house, but he's busy enough with the bakery that selling it seems like too much trouble, at least for the foreseeable future.

They're going to be in surreal limbo for a while, he's pretty sure. It's shaping up to be a weird year.

Having Octavia back in the bakery might be even weirder than having her in the house, though. As happy as he is to have her around, it still feels like they're missing something. It's supposed to be him and his mother and his sister. They're the staff. They're the Blakes.

Maybe Octavia's feeling the same way. Maybe that's why she wants to start over.

"Redo how?" he asks, frowning.

"No offense to grandpa or great-grandpa or whoever, but--this place could really use a facelift."

"Facelifts cost money. We can't do a ton."

"You have to spend money to make money, right? If we're doing a soft reopen--"

"I just want to remind you guys that as long as we're not open, you're not paying me," says Miller. Most of the staff left during Aurora's illness, not because they wanted to, but because the unpredictable hours and lack of work were a deal-breaker. Bellamy can't blame them, but he's glad Miller stuck around. He's one hell of a baker, as well as being one Bellamy's best friends. "I've got part-time stuff, but I can't wait that long for my real gig to come back."

"Yeah, O. The longer we're closed, the worse off we are. A few coats of paint, maybe some new furniture, we could do that. But I want to be open again by Friday at the latest."

"Okay, then I want paint now, and we work on other stuff as we go. New design aesthetic."

"Who's coming up with that? You?"

"Why not me?" she demands.

"I remember your art projects, you weren't great with color schemes or design."

"Maybe I got better."

"Maybe we should talk to Clarke."

Her frown deepens. "Who?"

"The lawyer. She said she wanted to help and she had paint on her work jeans. Maybe she's got a side gig or something. Or some suggestions, like with the website."

"Maybe we could coordinate it with the website," says Octavia, actually sounding excited. "Whole new color scheme."

"Or maybe we could open back up again as soon as possible so you guys can pay me my full rate," Miller says, and Bellamy hooks his arm around his neck.

"Trust me, no one wants money more than I do, but--"

"But we weren't making that much before, so it would be cool to do better?" Miller offers, and Bellamy has to smile. 

"Yeah. Better is exactly what we're going for."

*

They make the Friday opening, and it's even something of an event. Clarke and her friend Raven come up with a new website and color scheme on the cheap, and Octavia handles their other social media. They've been promoting the reopening with pictures of the new product they're experimenting with, and they've got free mini-cupcakes to give out to anyone who wants one.

As far as Bellamy can figure out, the problem they need to solve is that Blake's Bakes is _comfortable_. It's the kind of place everyone has walked by so often, they don't really see it anymore. Bellamy has plenty of places of his own like that, the hardware store, the flower shop. He knows them, but he doesn't think about them, like background details in a painting. Things that fill the space.

For a flower store, though, that's probably not the same kind of problem. When Bellamy needed flowers for his mother's funeral, he went to the place around the corner because he still knew them. When he needs to get keys made, he goes to the hardware store. They can be background places in a way that he can't, because people only need them sometimes, and enough people need them enough of the time that they can get by.

It doesn't work that way for him; he wants people buying their breakfast from him, stopping in for lunch and after-work treats. He wants regulars, and for that, they need to get some attention.

This is the first step.

Unfortunately, the first few hours are necessarily anti-climactic. They open at seven, which Bellamy thinks is probably right, and they have some loyal and/or desperate people coming in for coffee and possibly a muffin, but they're never going to get anyone beating down the door. It's always going to be slow.

So the best that can be said about the first few hours of being open is that they haven't _lost_ business. They're about as busy as they ever are, and they do actually pick up around 8:30, with an actual, honest-to-god _line_ by nine o'clock. It's not unheard of, not evidence that they're getting new business, but it's still good news. They haven't been abandoned in their abscence.

Bellamy's on register, just like he used to be. He'd thought his sister might want to take over, but Octavia's back in the kitchen like she never left it, her and Miller handling the baking. They'll leave earlier than he does, let him close up alone, but he doesn't mind that. They're already working on hiring some part-timers. He won't be on his own for long.

Clarke shows up around four, an hour before closing, with a girl that Bellamy assumes is her daughter. She looks more like Octavia than Clarke, dark hair and eyes, with a slightly nervous expression that makes his heart ache.

"Hey," says Clarke, leaning on the counter. She's dressed as a lawyer again, and he misses the paint stains. "How's the first day going?"

He shrugs. "Can't complain. We didn't get as many people as I hoped, but we're doing the promotion all weekend, so we might do better tomorrow and Sunday, when people aren't working. It's a pretty average day, which--given how erratic our hours have been, that's better than I was really expecting."

"So, you're happy, but you don't want to jinx it?"

"Pretty much." He turns his attention to Madi, offering her a smile. "Hey, you must be Madi. You want a free cupcake?"

"Yes, thank you," she says, and he offers the plate so she can pick her flavor.

She picks chocolate, Clarke goes with vanilla, and they both munch in silence for a bit. It's time Bellamy should probably be using to figure out his next lines; he likes Clarke, and he appreciates all that she's done for them. It would be nice if she stuck around a little longer.

"Did you check out the Instagram?" he settles on. "O says it's doing well, but I barely even know what Instagram is. I don't know what _well_ means."

Clarke laughs. "Yeah, I'm not great at it either. It looked like there were a lot of pound signs? I know those are good."

"You _know_ they're called hashtags," says Madi, and judging from Clarke's soft, pleased smile, she was setting her up for that one. "I like the Instagram," she offers. "The flower cookies were really cool."

"Yeah, those were really impressive," Clarke adds. "Who has frosting skills? And why doesn't that carry over into decorating skills?"

"In another life, O's the best art counterfeiter in the world. She's no good at original work, but show her a picture and she can recreate it in frosting."

"Cool." She tucks her hair behind her ear. "How's that going, anyway?"

"What?"

"Having your sister back."

She looks genuinely interested, but he's not sure this is the time or the place to get into it. Octavia isn't around, but Clarke is--

He doesn't even know what Clarke is. Maybe just an over-invested lawyer. Miller's explanation is that she's sucker for a pretty face, which is as good an explanation as any, but it doesn't actually help him figure out what to do. If Clarke wants to help him because she thinks he's cute, he's fine with that, but it's more flattering than anything.

She's still mostly confusing.

"We haven't killed each other yet," he says, with half a smile. "So that's good, right?"

Clarke laughs, soft. "Yeah, that's the goal. Keep it up."

*

It takes four whole days of being open before he and Octavia get in a fight, which feels pretty good, honestly. When the two of them and their mother were all working at the bakery together, arguments were common, and even with just Bellamy and Aurora, it was never more than a month on the outside. Bakeries are, according to Miller, way lower stress than restaurant kitchens, but food service in general tends to be stressful, and Octavia loves picking fights.

As does he, to be fair. He loves his sister to the moon and back, but he’s not sure they’re capable of being together for more than a week without raised voices, at a minimum.

It’s not even a particularly interesting or worthwhile fight, as they go. They’re trying to refine the recipe for sugar cookies, and it would be hard for the stakes to be lower, but suddenly they’re screaming, and Miller has just disappeared entirely, apparently in hopes of avoiding the bloodshed.

He notices this is an unexpected moment of calm, as they're both regaining their breath, and when he catches her eye, she starts to laugh.

“I forgot I ever cared this much about _recipes_ ,” she says, and he rolls his eyes.

“You don’t care about recipes, you just like being right.”

“I can do both.”

He shakes his head, still grinning, and they figure out the recipe, and it’s like a weight being lifted off him, having that first fight done. Octavia didn’t _leave_. They fought and they worked through it and she didn’t decide it wasn’t worth it.

Until it happened, he hadn’t know he was even waiting for it.

“What would happen if Octavia left before the year was up?” he asks Clarke, two weeks after that first argument.

She frowns. “It wouldn't be particularly helpful. Why, did she say something?”

“No, just curious. Not to speak ill of the dead, but if we made it eleven months and then had a giant fight and she gave up and I lost everything, I’d probably learn necromancy just to kill my mom again.”

He’s expecting her to laugh, or at least smile, but she looks thoughtful. She comes in on for lunch on Wednesdays, to help her get through the week, and it makes Bellamy feel a little squirmy, knowing that his mother probably chose her firm because of its proximity to the bakery. It’s weird to think of Aurora going to someone else, someone less sympathetic, someone who wouldn’t have become a friend.

Mostly, he doesn’t like thinking about the version of the world where he didn’t meet Clarke. It’s a guilty thing to feel, given his mother had to die to bring Clarke into his life, but he can’t help it. He likes having her around.

“You don’t ever think about quitting?” she asks finally.

“What?”

“You’re always worried Octavia doesn’t want this, but—do you? I know it’s your family business and you want to keep it, but—“ She shrugs. “You deserve something else if you want it, too.”

He opens and closes his mouth. “I like it here.”

“I know. I’m not saying you have to leave. You’re great at this, and I know how much you love it. But you might love something else too.”

“Do you spend a lot of time worrying about my quality of life?” 

It comes out a little defensive, but she doesn’t flinch. “Sorry we’re friends now."

"Is that what we're calling it?"

Her smile turns a little sad, and guilt shoots through his chest. He didn't mean it in a bad way, he just has trouble with, well, emotional exchanges. "Are we not?"

"I wasn't really expecting to make friends with my mom's estate lawyer."

"It's kind of nice, seeing how one of these turns out."

"It's been less than a month."

Clarke shrugs. "It's not hard to keep checking in. You're right here."

"Unless I decide I don't actually want to do this for the rest of my life," he says, trying to make it a joke, but the words taste too foreign in his mouth. This is what he does. It always has been.

Clarke just takes a sip of her coffee. "Then you can send me a postcard from wherever you end up."

It's easier to smile when she's not looking at him. "Yeah, I could probably handle that."

*

He doesn't have much time to think about what Clarke said, over the next few months, but it's the good kind of not thinking. Things are busy, but they're going well. He's in better shape than he's been in for a long time, even if admitting it makes him feel guilty. The bakery is doing well, he has his sister around, he thinks Clarke might actually be flirting with him for more reasons than _just_ his pretty face, and he has trouble remembering any other time that his life has been so on track. 

If he has a worry, it's Octavia, because it's not like that for her. It's not her life here, it's a pit stop, a year-long break that will end when she goes home, back to her real life.

Except that Octavia doesn't talk much about California. She doesn't seem to have many friends who are checking in, shows no strong signs of missing what she left behind on the other side of the country. It feels to Bellamy like she _could_ want to stay here, like there must be some secret word he should be able to say to convince her, if only he could figure out what it is.

But as it turns out, he doesn't have to say a thing. She's handling it on her own.

"Your girlfriend is bi, right?" is how she chooses to broach the subject with him.

"Sorry?" he asks, blinking at her. He just got into the bakery to get the register opened, which means it's not quite seven, she's been awake for significantly more hours than he has, and has consumed a lot more coffee. It tends to take him a while to catch up.

"Clarke."

"Not my girlfriend."

"Your future girlfriend," she says, unconcerned. "Like Monty is Miller's future boyfriend. Did I tell you I figured out how he should hit on him?"

"How much caffeine have you had?"

"Mint," she says.

"That's not a number."

Octavia rolls her eyes, the perfect picture of younger sibling exasperation. "That's how Miller should hit on Monty. Because that would be their couple name. Minty."

"That doesn't even make sense. It's Monty's first name and Miller's last name. Shouldn't it be Griller or Nonty? Mathan? Mate?"

"You're such a dork, Bell."

He takes that to mean she agrees with him and lets it go. "So, Miller should hit on Monty with mint-flavored desserts, and you want to know if Clarke is bi."

"She is, right?"

"Yeah. I am too, if you just need a bisexual person. I'm right here."

"I know, I'm looking for a bisexual girl. And she used to go out with Niylah, right? The blonde who brings Madi in sometimes."

" _Go out_ sounded like kind of a strong term, from what she told me," he admits. "I think they were mostly friends with benefits. But yeah, they had a thing." He finishes counting in and turns his full attention to his sister. "Seriously, give me some coffee and tell me what the fuck you actually want."

She shoves a mug at him, so at least there's that. "I think Niylah's pretty, but I haven't really tried the girl thing before. Would it be weird if I asked Clarke to talk me through it? Since she's definitely going to date you. Maybe it would be awkward for her to give me dating tips. For her ex."

"If she dates me, she's kind of your sister, right? So she can give you advice." He takes a drink of the coffee. "You're thinking about dating, huh?"

"I'm twenty-seven, Bell, I'm old enough to date."

"I didn't mean it like that." If he'd been a little more awake, he probably wouldn't have said it at all, but it's too late now. "Just--dating. That's serious. What happens in nine months?"

"What does happen in nine months? Do you think one of us would be pregnant?"

"No, I mean--the year will be up."

She frowns. "It's not like I'm proposing marriage. We might not make it past two dates. I'm not worried about what's going to happen if I leave town."

Hanging too much of his hope on that single _if_ would be stupid, so he doesn't let himself do it. "Clarke should be in later, I'll tell her you want to talk to a bisexual girl because you're stuck in the gender binary."

"You can't actually tell me about being a girl who dates girls."

"I guess not. But if you need anything else--"

"I think I've got it," she says, and the thought distracts him off and on, when he has downtime. He'd like to say it's about Niylah, about her potentially dating, but like she said, she's twenty-seven. He's pretty far past freaking out that she has relationships.

_If I leave town_ , though. That's going to fuck with him.

Clarke tends to come a little late, once the crowd has died down and the afternoon cashier is in, so Bellamy can grab a sandwich of his own and sit with her.

She might not be his girlfriend yet, but it's not like Octavia is wrong either--he _is_ hoping.

"My sister wants to date your ex."

Clarke frowns. "Which one? How many of my exes do you even know?"

"Uh, I think just one. Niylah."

"Oh. Huh." She taps her jaw. "That could work. I didn't know she was into women."

"Yeah, it's new for her too. She wanted to talk to you about that. And about Niylah specifically." He shrugs. "I'm just the messenger."

"Because Octavia never sees me and couldn't just ask me herself."

"I did see you first," he points out, and she smiles.

"You did. What else is going on?"

“The usual. Pretty decent breakfast crowd, I think we’re going to be way ahead of budget on this week.”

She nudges his foot under the table. “And you’re acting weird.”

“It’s been like ten seconds. How weird can I be?”

“Bellamy.”

He sighs. “I was asking O about, you know. Her dating someone here, when she’s leaving in nine months.”

“Nine months is a pretty long time.”

“Yeah, I know. But still. I thought maybe—this wasn’t her life. That she was on pause or something.”

“It’s good that she’s not, right?”

“Yeah, obviously.” He ducks his head down. “She said she might not leave in nine months, but I don’t want to make it a big deal, so I don’t even know if she meant it.”

“What exactly did she say?”

“Just that she’d deal with it if she left in nine months. Not when.”

“What would you do if she stayed?”

“Throw a party.” Clarke smiles, but only a little, and it’s his turn to nudge her foot. “What?”

“Nothing.”

“You don’t want her to stay?”

“Not that.” She worries her lip. “I just always thought this whole thing was really unfair to you. What your mom was doing.”

“Yeah, I wish she’d just left me the place, but I get it.”

“I didn't mean just the will. Whenever we talked about it, it wasn’t a question, you know? _Bellamy will do what’s right for his sister_. Or for the family, or the bakery. I asked her if you liked to bake once and it was like she didn’t even understand the question.”

“And?”

She bites her lip, considering her words.“I was pre-med in college because my mom’s a doctor, and I just assumed I would be a doctor too. And then I took an actual medicine class and I realized I didn’t like it. I wasn’t bad at it, but—I didn’t want to.”

“So you went to law school instead of med school? Yeah, that’s rough.”

“Yeah, I’m rich and privileged," she says, with a smile. "Trust me, I know. But the point stands.”

“The point being what?”

“If you could do anything in the world, what would you do?”

“I can’t do anything in the world.”

“Humor me.”

The answer comes easily. “Travel.”

“Yeah?”

“I’ve never left the country before. It would be cool if I could. Which I still could, if I had the bakery. I have employees. I could take a vacation.”

“What would you have done if you lost the bakery?”

“Cried.”

She smiles. “After that.”

“Gotten a job to make some money. Probably at another bakery. My job history is pretty focused.” He drums his fingers on the table. “I’d probably try to go to college. Get a degree. Not for a particular job, just—I liked school.”

She nods. “Maybe keep thinking about it.”

“I can’t believe you’re this desperate to sell my family business for charity.”

“Yeah, that’s my master plan.” It sounds like she’s done, but instead she takes a sip of her iced coffee and says, “Obviously you don’t have to listen to me, but I just think—you should finish the year if Octavia is willing, obviously. This is your bakery and you deserve to own it and do what you want with it. But your mom always assumed you’d just go with it, and I always kind of wanted you to decide you were going to forget about her and do your own thing.”

“I can’t believe you got invested in someone else’s family rebellion.”

“I have a lot of opinions on all the estates I deal with.”

“You have a lot of opinions on everything," he teases, but she doesn't let it go. 

“Just think about it.”

“About what, exactly?”

“Traveling, school, anything. You don’t have to leave the bakery or anything. But you could think about what you want. What would make you happy.”

“How many of these pep talks have you given? Do you wait a few months and then call people up to be like, it was fucked up your grandfather didn’t leave you that unicorn statue?”

“Is that what you think rich people’s wills look like?”

“Isn’t it?”

“Sometimes.” She inclines her head in thought. “I’ve never done anything like this before. It’s all new.”

"Cool." He clears his throat. "I can think of one thing that would make me happy right now.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.” Somehow, it’s not even that difficult. He hasn’t asked anyone out in a while, but she likes him and gave him a good opening. He’s only mildly terrified. “You want to get dinner sometime?”

She ducks her head, smiling as color creeps up her neck, and it’s pretty much the best thing he’s ever seen. “Yeah. That would be nice.”

*

Three days before the eight-month budget review with Clarke, things go wrong, really wrong, for the first time.

For once, Bellamy doesn’t think it’s fault, or not entirely his fault. He and Octavia are working on a special menu for December, various cakes and treats people can order for holiday celebrations, and things are getting as heated as they always do. Octavia’s ambitions often outreach what Bellamy considers their abilities, and it always a source of tension. He wants things to be pretty too, but he also wants them to be consistent and realistic, which she considers to be cramping her style.

Usually they can compromise, but the stars have aligned today and neither of them is backing down.

“Visual impact is our best marketing tool,” Octavia says, which is a pretty good argument, by her standards. “We want to post pictures of these and make people excited to show them off.”

“We also want the pictures to actually match the product in the time we’ve got. This much decoration on a cupcake—“

“I can do it. You know I’m fast.”

It’s late and he’s tired, and that’s probably why he uses his best and most dangerous argument. “What about next year?”

Octavia frowns. “What about next year?”

“Next year, when you’re gone, and I found a new baker to replace you. If they can’t do it, we’re going to have a bunch of people asking what happened and why the cupcakes got so much uglier.”

“Next year, when I’m gone,” she repeats. “Wow, already planning for that, huh?”

His temper flares. “I have to be! You told me what this was: one year, just like the will said. I'm not going to beg you to stay, O. You've made it clear you don't want to be here, so why would I plan on having you around?"

"So that's it? After a year you're just going to kick me out?"

"Who said I was going to kick you? We both get the place. But you've got a life to go back to, right? All those friends in California you're always talking to? All that awesome stuff you're clearly missing out on? Yeah, I can see why you can't wait to go back, it seems like you've got something really great going there."

The thing about growing up with someone--about loving them at all, really, about knowing anyone well enough--is that you know how to hurt them, and Bellamy has always known how to hurt Octavia. Sometimes he wonders if she _wanted_ to come back, if she would have done it if she knew how. She's always tried so hard to make it out like she made the right decision in leaving, and he's always let her have it, because he was sure that if he called her out, she'd double down.

And now he's done it anyway.

"Like you do? I'm amazed you're planning to take over the bakery yourself, I didn't think you knew how to make decisions without Mom telling you what you to do."

"Almost like having _years of fucking experience_ \--"

"Yeah, because you're so much better at this than I am. Great. You've got it covered all on your own. Tell Clarke I'm in the back if she asks, I'll back you up. I'm done."

"O--"

She's already gone, of course, and he slumps back in the office chair with a groan. He knew it was coming, of course, but he was hoping they'd make it through the year without the blowup, and then Octavia would either be able to say she wanted to stay to help out, saving face somehow, or she'd decide to leave and give him the place.

He thought they could talk around it, maybe. That they could put it off long enough that it turned into something else.

"Fuck," he mutters, rubbing his face, and pulls out his phone.

The first number he scrolls to is Clarke's, of course. It's late and she's probably asleep, but he knows she'd pick up, probably even let him come over. They try to keep sleepovers to a minimum, taking it slow as Madi gets used to his presence in her life, but it's a special occasion. On the other hand, there are legal implications there that he should probably be thinking about. If Clarke knows Octavia left, she might be obligated to do something about it.

He dials anyway.

She picks up almost immediately, voice a little vague. "Bellamy? What's wrong? Why are you even awake?"

"Me and O were working on the holiday menu. Can I tell something to my girlfriend but not my mom's lawyer?"

"So it went well."

"I'm serious."

"No, you can't. But you can tell me something, and I don't have to act on it immediately. And the more I know, the more I can help. As your girlfriend and as your mom's lawyer."

"You just want the gossip."

"Or I love you and I'm worried about you."

"Or that, yeah."

"Are you still at the bakery?"

"Yeah."

"So close up and come over."

Part of him is still hoping Octavia will still be outside, but there's no sign of her, and her car is gone. If he goes home, he might find her, but they probably both need some time apart, to think things over. As long as it doesn't lose them the bakery, it's probably fine. And Clarke will do her best to give them all the time she can.

She and Madi live in a small house outside of town, and when he gets there, Clarke is sitting on the front steps with a mug in her hands. Her hair's in a loose braid, and although she put on her coat in recognition of the growing winter chill, she didn't bother with shoes or a hat.

He does love her a lot.

"You could have waited inside," he says. "I would have texted when I got here. I know better than to ring your doorbell at midnight."

"I know." She stands to kiss him, quick, and then pushes the mug into his hands. "I wanted to see you as soon as possible. Come on in."

"Is this warm milk?"

"I didn't want to give you caffeine. There's Bailey's in there, though."

He smiles. "My hero."

They're quiet as they make their way to Clarke's bedroom, and he hesitates for only a second before he strips down to his boxers and pulls on the sleep shirt he leaves with her. There's no way he's going home tonight, so he might as well be comfortable.

Clarke waits until he's settled next to her on the bed before she asks, "So, what happened?"

"I told her I couldn't plan around her being here next year."

"That seems--" She pauses. "Bad, but not catastrophic. I wouldn't have said it like that, but it's not like you're wrong. She told you she was leaving. It's not wrong to take her at her word."

"Yeah, that wasn't the real problem. I, uh--I don't know what her life actually looked like in California, but I sort of think it's not great. And I told her that, so--that's it."

"That's it?"

"She was doing me a favor, she could feel good about that. She got to be the hero. But if she knows I think she doesn't have anything to go back for--" He shrugs. "I don't know if she'd cut off her nose to spite her face, but she'd do it to spite someone else."

Clarke's laugh is soft. "I kind of get that."

"Yeah, you would. Fuck, I do too. But--I don't know how to talk to her about it. We just end up screaming at each other."

"And she left?"

"Yeah. What does that mean? Legally speaking."

She laughs and pushes her face against his shoulder, a kind of exasperated affection. "You want to talk about that now? I thought I was supposed to be your girlfriend, not a lawyer."

"If I have to let Miller go, I want to know now."

"We weren't allowed to let you reopen without Octavia, and we can't let you keep the bakery without her. Even if you're turning a profit, if she's not a partner--"

"Yeah, I know."

"But you can still stay open for the rest of the year. We don't have to shut you down."

"But you would."

"I'd try not to. Not because you're my boyfriend," she adds. "If you're losing the place, you should make as much as you can before that. Since you won't get any money from the sale. I'm good with keeping to the letter of the will, not the spirit."

"Did you build that loophole in on purpose?"

She shrugs. "Your mom didn't say anything about your sister bailing before the year was up, I didn't feel like I needed to remind her."

"Thanks for having my back before you met me," he says, kissing her hair.

"Any time. What are you going to do?"

"Good question. Give her a couple days to cool off, call her, try to have a real conversation? Something like that."

"Maybe this is an only-child thing," Clarke says, slow. "But I guess I don't get why you and Octavia have so much trouble talking."

"No?"

"You're fine at talking to me."

"I don't know if I'd go that far." He sighs. "Yeah, it's probably a sibling thing. And also--six years is a big age difference. Mom was always busy in the bakery, and I ended up taking care of O most of the time. So it's--complicated."

"Kind of halfway between sibling and dad."

"Yeah." He swallows hard. "I'm afraid if I just tell her I want her to stay, it won't be enough. And then if she leaves--"

"You can't keep her here if she doesn't want to stay," Clarke says, way too reasonable. "But she won't leave just to spite you, I'm pretty sure. All you can do is be honest and tell her what you want."

"She was kind of saying the same thing you do," he can't help pointing out. "About me."

"Hm?"

"I just care about the bakery because my mom told me to."

"That's not what I've been trying to say."

"No?"

She presses her lips against the place where his shoulder meets his neck, making him shiver a little. "You love that place, it's obvious. But you could love something else too. If you lose it, it's not the end of the world. And, yeah, I think it might have been unfair that your mom put so much pressure on you to work in the family business, but--that doesn't mean it's not good for you. I just think we should go on vacation or something. Once stuff is stable enough for you to take some time off."

He has to smile. "We, huh?"

"Madi's never been out of the country either," she says, settling against him in a pointed way that suggests she's ready for the conversation to be over so she can sleep. "We might as well go with you."

"Yeah," he says. "That would be nice."

*

Bellamy isn't actually a bad baker, which means it's not nearly as hard as it could be to shuffle the scheduling without Octavia. Their part-time counter staff get a few more hours, Bellamy has to wake up earlier and help Miller out in the kitchen, and he can't stop looking at his phone, seeing if his sister is trying to get in touch.

After three days, he calls her, and when she doesn't pick up, he leaves a message. "I'm sorry, O. I didn't want to pressure you to stay, so I just--it was easier to tell myself you were leaving than to have a conversation about it. That wasn't fair to you. If you want to stay, I want you here, and if you don't, I hope you'll still come back and finish the year." He sighs. "Just--call me back. Or come back. Don't let a stupid argument ruin everything."

Madi comes in after school on the fourth day and asks him, "Are you and your sister still fighting?"

If she got his voicemail, she's showed no sign of it. He's not sure it counts as a fight if they're not even in contact. "I guess. We're still not talking, is that the same thing as fighting?"

"Didn't she leave?" 

"That too, yeah."

She makes a face. "I thought having a sibling would be cool, but maybe not."

"It's not like you and Clarke always get along," he points out. "I assume you're still happy she's your mom."

"Yeah, but--" She shrugs. "Do you think she's coming back? She said she'd teach me how to mix drinks."

It's an alarming statement on several levels. "Why do you want to mix drinks?"

"Not _alcohol_. I just want to learn some tricks. You can still do them with juice and stuff."

"You want to learn how to trick pour apple juice?" he asks, charmed in spite of himself.

"What's wrong with that?"

"Nothing. I'd get her to teach me to bake instead, though."

"You can teach me that," she says, dismissive. "Right?"

Before Octavia took off, Bellamy had been feeling pretty good about his relationship with Madi. Like he told Clarke, he's comfortable in a sort of nebulous position between parent and sibling, and it feels more right to be there with Madi than it had with Octavia. Post-fight, he can't help being a little more anxious; it's hard to tell himself he's doing well with the whole _family_ thing right now.

So it's nice to hear Madi still wants him around. 

"Any time you want, yeah." He clears his throat. "I think she'll come back. I don't know if she'll stay, but I don't think I'm never going to see her again or anything."

"That's good," she says. "I hope you can keep the bakery."

"Yeah, me too." It's pretty quiet, and they're closing soon, so he adds, "I can't do trick pouring, but I can show you how to do foam patterns on lattes, if you want."

"Really?"

"Nothing that complicated, but yeah. We can cover the basics."

That's how Octavia finds them when she comes in. It's a few minutes before closing, and Bellamy's annoyed by the sound of the door until he sees her, hands stuffed in her pockets, watching him and Madi work with an inscrutable expression.

"Hey," he says, mouth dry. "You want a latte? We've got a couple we're not using."

"Sure." She leans against the counter, still watching them. "Are you giving lessons now?"

"Apparently you left before Madi could get trick-pouring lessons."

Her mouth twitches. "I didn't _leave_ , Bell. I was crashing with Niylah."

Admittedly, he should have thought of that. "I figured if you wanted me to know where you were, you would have told me."

"Yeah." She wets her lips. "I'm sorry, I shouldn't have just stormed out."

"It's okay." He glances at Madi. "Man, I bet you don't want to be here, huh?"

"I'm kind of curious," she admits. "But mostly no."

"When's Clarke coming?"

"At close. She was going to buy you dinner."

"I assume she'd be okay with a raincheck."

Madi rolls her eyes. "She'd live, yeah."

"So you guys can help me close," he says, and it's disconcertingly normal. O isn't usually around for closing, these days, but this used to be the norm, when she was in high school, before she was a full-time baker. She'd come to work a few hours after school, help him close up, just the two of them.

Clarke doesn't comment when she arrives, just starts stacking chairs so Octavia can sweep, and mop, and then they're done and the place feels oddly empty, even with four people in it.

"We're going to get pizza," Clarke declares. "We'll see you guys later?"

"Yeah."

She gives him a quick kiss, more support than passion, flashes Octavia a look he can't read, and then he's alone with his sister.

"Pizza sounds good," she finally says. "We could order one. You have booze here, right?"

"Wait, you don't have booze?"

"I just have gin, you hate gin."

"Okay, I've got vodka, yeah."

She snorts. "You know, when we were kids, I never knew how much booze there was in this building at any given time."

He smiles too. "I think I started bringing a flask when I was like nineteen, yeah."

"You just wanted to feel like a badass."

"Like you didn't."

They share a smile, and silence falls again, slightly less awkward. He offers to order the pizza, and they get some soda to mix with the booze. It makes him feel like a kid again, or at least a dumbass young adult, mixing his booze with whatever he can get regardless of how it comes out tasting.

"Isn't this going to offend your sensibilities as a bartender?"

"Isn't it going to offend your _face_?" she shoots back, and he smiles. "How's it been going?"

"Okay. Me and Miller got by without you. Miller cried."

"Obviously. I know I'm his favorite."

"Obviously."

They chat about inconsequential things as they wait for the pizza, Bellamy rattling off sales numbers and stories about Madi, Octavia filling him in on how Niylah's weird roommates are doing. It should feel like putting things off, but he's sure neither of them actually thinks the conversation isn't going to happen, just that they're both waiting for the right time.

It comes once they've got the pizza. They're eating it on the office floor, drinking their lazy cocktails, and Octavia says, "I always loved this place, you know."

"I know."

"That's not why I left."

"I'm not mad that you left. I was, for a while," he adds, in fairness. "But not--I didn't get how you could just leave, honestly. I wouldn't know how to walk away."

"That's not bad, Bell," she says, gentle, like she's the older sister, trying to make him feel better. "I know what I said, but--"

"It's okay. Seriously," he adds. "I've been thinking about it more. I get why you needed to leave, but I guess I didn't need that. Maybe if Mom hadn't told me the bakery was the most important thing in my life, I would have done something else, but I don't mind that this is where I ended up." He swallows hard. "But it would be better if you were here."

"It's not like you were wrong, I didn't have this glamorous, amazing life or anything. It was fine, but it wasn't like--it wasn't actually any _better_ than being home, you know? But if I came back here, I was admitting it was stupid to leave."

"It wasn't stupid. You needed to try something else. It would be stupid to leave again if you don't want to, though."

She lets out a soft snort of laughter, then takes a long drink of straight gin. "You're really worried about that, aren't you?"

"Yeah."

"I think this could be good," she finally says. "You and me, Miller. Even--Clarke and Niylah and Madi. With Mom, it felt like the bakery was all she had, you know? There was always so much pressure because it was her whole world. Maybe it can just be our job."

He smiles. "What a concept."

"You get it, though."

"Yeah. I want to have a successful business that doesn't define my entire life."

"And we're doing okay with that, right?"

"Yeah."

She bites the corner of her mouth. "So, um, partners?"

"Partners," he agrees, grin taking over his face. "Sounds perfect."

*

"You sure you have everything?"

Octavia rolls her eyes. "What exactly do you think is going to happen, Bell? If anything goes wrong, we'll be fine. If it goes _that_ wrong, it wouldn't help if you were around anyway."

"Wow, you really know how to make me feel better. Thanks."

"It's almost like you should just _leave_."

"The flight isn't for hours, I don't have anywhere to be yet."

"No," Miller says. "But you are officially on vacation, so what the fuck are you doing at work?"

"Language," he says. "Someone might come in and hear you and post a bad Yelp review."

"This is what he's worried about," Miller says to O, like Bellamy isn't even there. "He thinks we're going to tank the Yelp ratings in two weeks."

"I don't think he's ever been away from the bakery for more than, like, four consecutive days. This is a big deal for him."

"I got the flu once," he protests, and immediately regrets it.

Miller snorts. "Yeah, wow, you're right. That's just like taking a vacation. I can't believe I fucked that up."

"Okay, fine, Jesus, I get it. I'm leaving. If the place burns down while I'm gone, it's not my fault."

"Nope, it definitely ins't," Octavia agrees, cheerful. "If anything goes wrong, it will have absolutely nothing to do with you. So you can just stop worrying."

"That'll be the day," he mutters, and she grins, pulls him in for a hug.

"Have fun, Bell."

He hugs Miller too, and Miller just rolls his eyes. "Seriously, you're going to Europe for two weeks, you're not going off to fucking war."

"Seriously, language," he shoots back. "See you in a couple weeks."

It's warm when he steps outside, the June sunlight chasing the chill out of the air. Clarke is working half a day, so he's got a few hours before he has to pick her up. He's getting Madi from the library, though, spending the morning with her. This time tomorrow, they'll be in Rome, jetlagged and confused, but _there_ , in a whole new country, and he and Madi are putting the finishing touches on their itinerary. O made fun of them for planning out every minute of their entire trip, but it was a losing battle for her; Clarke loves schedules even more than he does.

He's probably going to text more than Octavia and Miller want, and he'll find himself fretting at odd moments, but that's a losing battle too, so he's just going to lean into it. He'll always worry about his shop and his sister and a dozen other things he can't control, but but it doesn't have to dominate his life.

He can take a vacation with his girlfriend and her daughter, and it's going to be awesome. They could do this every year, maybe, two weeks off to visit all the places he's never been, at least until Madi goes to college. 

It sounds pretty great, when he thinks of it like that. He's looking forward to seeing how it turns out.


End file.
